


Share My Life With You

by ItsAutumnHereFriend



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amalgamation of Book and Show Geralt, Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff, Geralt has a praise kink, Geralt really likes cars, Geralt's horny but sad, Hand kink (kinda), He loves car sex my dudes, I don't know much about Eskel so I'm sorry if his character is off, Jaskier is horny., Lowkey crack taken seriously, M/M, Mechanic!Eskel, Mechanic!Geralt, Minor Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Semi-Public Blow Jobs, Semi-public hand jobs, Smut, So a more insecure Geralt, ends happy!, insecure!geralt, no beta we die like men, semi-public oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsAutumnHereFriend/pseuds/ItsAutumnHereFriend
Summary: Jaskier has heard the stories. Romantics fall for mechanics and begin to break their own cars to hopefully form some sort of relationship. Jaskier likes to think he’s smarter than that. So of course, he offers to work with the mechanic instead. This might just be the smartest decision he’s ever made.The one in which Geralt would offer to share his life with Jaskier. Lucky for him, Jaskier’s been offering.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 166





	Share My Life With You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this since March 12th. The more I look/edit this fic, the more insane I get.  
> I have yet to read the books and only have little understanding of Geralt's characterization. I'm playing through the games but I haven't gotten too far yet, and I've watched the show.  
> The world of The Witcher just gets more and more interesting the more I get to explore it.
> 
> Also wanted to add Lambert but I was just so afraid that I'd get his characterization so fucked up.

Jaskier considers himself to be bestowed with an abundance of luck and charms, he claims with a flourish that he owes it all to Lucky Charms, the very cereal that had gotten him through his less than ideal childhood. It remains as his very own clover of luck, especially now, when there’s a hot mechanic waving his ass around Jaskier’s face.

Although not completely conscious of it, Jaskier admits glumly. However, as all philosophies go--as Jaskier can recall from his few classes on the melodrama of madmen--every piece of luck comes with bouts of despair.

His first unlucky tryst of the month: dear old Dandelion gives out on him. Jaskier bemoans the poor girl and curses himself for not taking care of her more. The prettiest girl in his life shouldn’t be treated this way! He makes a vow to care for her more.

The lucky side of the month: an auto-shop located very close, and a man that tears Jaskier’s breath from him the moment he enters the shop. He’s torn amid the gasoline that makes his nose wrinkle and the man leaned over the hood of a beat-up car.

If Jaskier weren’t so taken away, he would have had half the mind to fumble with his phone and write a song in the light of such a beautiful man. Made even more beautiful next to his Dandelion--she would curse him if he didn’t call her as equally as beautiful, don’t blame him! She’s done it before--and Jaskier is so transfixed by the man that he doesn’t realize he’d straightened, looking at him warily.

Jaskier smiles at him, albeit one of confusion. His eyes trail over the pink scars on his face. Can scars be called pretty? Because he's sure anything on this man could be pretty. 

The man sighs. “I can fix her up. How would you like to pay?”

Jaskier blinks. Oh how he wishes he could offer his… own services as payment. An ass like that deserves all the loving it could get. Jaskier clears his throat when the man begins to level him with a glare. “Credit! And perhaps your name…?”

“Geralt,” the man gruffs; and Jaskier wishes his name had not followed the amount owed. 

“A-ah, you see…”

“You don’t have enough money.” Geralt deadpans, as if this were not his first time getting conned out of his money. 

“But I can pay with my services!” Jaskier waves his hand about. “This place looks like it could use some TLC-” Geralt glares harder. Jaskier's gall quakes, and his voice stutters despite the easy smile resting on his lips. “But how lovely it already is! Quite homely, I’d say. But every home could use a…” Jaskier curses himself. How could he let his own flub get away with him? “Loving… touch…?” 

They stare at each other. Jaskier has a smile frozen on his face. He can’t look away from Geralt’s eyes despite a frown and glare etched into his skin as if he were merely a drawing.

Jaskier tilts his head. They're like molten gold, he awes, expertly crafted and chiseled to make the man before him. Maybe if they touch he’ll be burned golden.

Geralt blinks and the spell is dismantled. He doesn't say a word, nor an acknowledgement. He stares at Jaskier for only a bit longer until he turns his heel and walks away. 

Jaskier sighs, deflating a bit. That’s a rejection if he’s ever seen one. He smooths a hand over Dandelion, as if consoling her--although it’s always been her consoling him--”don’t worry, we can get you fixed, baby." He coos at her. If she were sentient, she would have merely sighed at his antics. Maybe even purr to heal his broken heart-

He flinches when a hand claps him harshly over the shoulder. He spins around, eyeing a man with a few scars smattering his cheeks. A small smile is stark and white on one side of his lips, his eyes even warmer, even more amused than the… Almost brotherly touch that definitely did not make Jaskier's life flash before his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Geralt will fix her. This isn’t a charity, but he’s never one to walk away from someone in need.”

As if that man couldn’t be better in his eyes. “Wow, that’s… Really nice of him. Really lovely.” Jaskier breathes, wondering what kind of gentle heart lies underneath cold marble. 

“Sure. But we’ll run out of business if he keeps this up. We could use a hand.” The man offers his hand. “Eskel. You?”

  
  
  


Jaskier falls pretty against Triss’ desk. The sun meets his dramatics with a patch of cloven light littering his cheek. “I think I’ve found my one true love,” he sighs. Triss also sighs, but it’s a sigh that jarrs against his own.

She moves around the trolley of plants she's grown, inspecting them and watering them. Every nook and cranny is filled with either plants or books. Even the sun rains its sunshine against her window, excited to touch the sprouts trying to get past the soil. 

Jaskier whines, vying for her attention. He can't believe even the sun would choose her plants over him! At least it is kind enough to leave a gentle whisper on his skin. 

Triss smiles weakly at him. “Jask, you say that everytime-”

“And everytime they leave, but this could be different!” He waves her off, deigning to ignore her looks of pity. 

“Maybe it could,” she says sincerely; and that, of all the things, makes his heart seize in a litany of heartbeats he wishes would stay. "Who did you say it was? Guy with white hair, scars and-”

“And biceps the size of my head? Thighs that could suffocate me to death-" 

"Geralt. Yen's ex."

Jaskier beams, raising his arms excitedly. "Ah! I have a chance!  _ No  _ one is prettier than me. Not even Yen. I mean look at me!" 

Triss shakes her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before making her way toward her study, and toward Jaskier. He pats her arm conspiratorially. She quirks up an eyebrow. A question, and the answer: "but you're even prettier than me, darling Triss! What is a man to do, in such a world filled with lovely-"

“Surely your car won’t need fixing every week, would it?” Triss' voice lilts, fighting to break through his. 

“Of course not! Oh, Triss." Jaskier shakes his head. "I've heard of the stories. People breaking their cars to see the object of their desire." Jaskier sits up straighter, puffing out his chest like a proud peacock with a smile. "And that is exactly why I’m working with him now instead.”

Triss stares at him, and if Jaskier didn't know any better, he'd think she had finally seen reason, looking at him with awe and admiration, an adoring smile on her--well. Too bad Yennefer cast her spell on her.

He waits for Triss to process, playing with a petal of a daisy on her desk in the meanwhile. 

“What.” She says morosely. Jaskier's smile turns apprehensive. 

“Yeah, funny thing, that-”

  
  
  


Jaskier holds a tray of coffees in his hand, the other pulling the door to the auto-shop open. To say the least, he feels confident in his choice for Geralt. After all, he did have to beg and sell his soul to Yennefer, who had looked at Jaskier like this was his worst decision yet; which is false. His worst decision came in the form of acknowledging Valdo Marx's existence. Yet Jaskier still had to proposition Yennefer in a way that his very own being, the very thing that fabricated his very existence, were dangling in front of her like a prize to be won.

She didn't fall for it at all and now Jaskier  _ owes  _ Yennefer, which is the worst result he could have hoped for. All for knowing the  _ forbidden-not-actually-forbidden _ flavour that will make Geralt swoon at him for knowing, and one he will never forget if his plan fails. Geralt looks all tough and scary, but once you know the  _ forbidden truth  _ all of that washes away. Not too much though, he could still punch your dick off. 

He glances at the cup once more and pushes down the idea that this was most certainly a bad decision. At least he gets coffee, and Geralt has surprising taste--surprisingly sweet, even Jaskier unconsciously recoils away at its sugar content--although admittedly the pay-off for his soul and everything Yennefer might want from him might not be worth how much of a fool he’ll make of himself. If it gets him on Geralt’s good side, then it’ll all be worth it.

Geralt is the first to notice him and his little peace offering. Jaskier smiles bright, chirping a hello as he paces until he's close enough to Jaskier and takes the tray from him, placing it down on a nearby table, probably for Eskel to see when he stalks by.

"You didn't have to," he says, and he means it. His eyebrows scrunch together as if he doesn't understand why Jaskier would bother. 

Jaskier gives Geralt's bicep a squeeze. "It's just something nice, nothing to fret about."

Geralt looks at him strangely, and then he's off to fix Dandelion. Eskel comes bounding about soon after, thanking Jaskier for his troubles. If only he knew he had to sell his soul to the devil… Who is certainly  _ not _ the devil, Jaskier remedies, in case Yennefer's  _ Jaskier is talking shit  _ sixth sense irritates her.

Eskel doesn't say anything. He stares at Jaskier before glancing at Geralt. 

"Well," Eskel clears his throat, and Jaskier thinks if he weren't so smitten with Geralt, he would have willingly fallen for Eskel. Maybe. "First day on the job. Hope we don't scare you away too soon."

"Nothing will scare me more than the mess that refuses to leave this place." Jaskier flounders his hand about the shop, "I suppose a good cleaning is in order?" 

Eskel gives him a thoughtful look, then nods, more to himself than to him. "Yeah. Everything you need would be in the closet over there. Let us know if you need anything," and he claps a still rather rough hand on Jaskier's shoulder. Brotherly, he muses again. 

Glancing at the place, Jaskier knows he's in for the long haul. He's sure it hadn't gotten  _ this  _ messy the last time he was here. Grease and oil is clearly in abundance, and, as Jaskier can make out, while the tools are put away and cleaned by Geralt and Eskel obsessively, they don't put the same care to the shop itself. 

Jaskier scrunches his nose and dutifully gives the shop some serious TLC, anywhere close to Geralt, that is. If he notices, he doesn’t comment; and could anyone blame him for wanting to be able to gawk at him for more than just a second? 

How even the gods would bemuse such beauty, he laments. The muse's themselves would hark Geralt's stature faster than Jaskier could pull out his phone and write a song about his grace. 

Yet maybe it is the muses themselves who provide Jaskier a litany of melodies befitting him; and some rather crass. 

He hums lowly under his breath as he wipes oil spills on tables and tools left to lie in their dirt. He gets louder every passing moment, because this is Jaskier and Jaskier himself knows he can never sit still long enough before bursting into song.

A glance towards Geralt shifts his idle singing, a small and even sweeter ballad. Somehow he finally feels he has the ability to finish such a song the longer he's within Geralt's presence. 

“Life isn’t that sweet, even when you have someone to warm your bed with,” Geralt’s voice gruffs from underneath Dandelion. 

Jaskier fakes a gasp. “How crude, dear Geralt!” Geralt wheels out, sitting to grab a different tool from his toolbox, all the while fixing him a blank stare. Jaskier responds with his winning smile. “Life gets sweeter,” his smile melts into something warmer. “Only because you have another person to share your life with. All of which you can give.” And maybe he looks at Geralt far too warmly, too adoringly, because Geralt looks away far too quickly, far too quiet.

To Jaskier's surprise, it continues like that, sharing philosophies and thoughts one would have underneath the stars. Although for Geralt, underneath a car might have been to the same effect as stars. 

Jaskier snickers at the thought, smiling wider when Geralt glances up at him. 

"Get off the tires, Jaskier." 

Just to spite him, Jaskier bounces his heel against them lightly, sticking out his tongue petulantly. "You must have been Aristotle in your past life."

Geralt sighs. "I'll have you pay for those when they break."

"Ahah! You just want to keep me here, don't you? That's sweet. And rather obsessive."

A silence grows between them, but not one borne from spite nor animosity. A comforting silence, as Jaskier watches Geralt flex, his hair loosening from his tie to fall in rivulets around his cheeks. 

"Yes, you even look like you've been sculpted out of marble," Jaskier says softly, cheek resting on his knee. 

Every silence is paired with Jaskier's abundance of prose, and with every one of his dramatics, there is Geralt, who grunts at his compliments and is otherwise unaffected. 

Except Jaskier can see the red tinging the tips of his ears. Jaskier smiles quietly.

  
  
  


It begins with a flurry of compliments--vocal affection thrown at him left and right--which evolves into soft touches and gentle smiles. 

Jaskier paints him out to be… Someone who hangs the stars and moon every night; and Geralt knows he doesn’t belong in the same sentence that is used to compliment him. He’d rather avoid all the mad metaphors Jaskier pins on him. He’d rather have him quiet. He’d rather  _ not  _ have him stare at him as if he were something more.

He shuts his eyes, sighing. Jaskier bounds up to him, hands filled with churros. He sidles up next to Geralt, nearly hugging him as he forces Geralt's hand to clench around a handful of churros. 

Geralt had made the mistake to reprimand his choice of food. His response was to be expected: a gasp and an indignant "how could you not indulge in life's finest delicacies?" fall from his lips. 

Churros, now. Life's finest delicacies.  _ Churros _ .

"-Sweet, nearly as sweet as you, my dear mechanic."

"Stop that." 

"Stop what, Geralt?" 

Geralt glares at him, jaw clenched. He breathes slowly, but his eyes are cloudy, not the usual molten gold that would stare at Jaskier with such heavy warmth, it's one that could rival the heat of lava: destructive and yearning. 

Silence burns and tinges the air with smoke. Jaskier can barely feel himself breathing.

His ears slowly become painted with red. The longer the silence continues, the harder Geralt stares at the space Jaskier had made a home in. 

"Stop," his voice is grating even in his own ears. "Had about enough of this."

"Enough of what? The truth? Don't want me to bless you with these…" Jaskier waves his hand about, churros nearly falling from his grasp. "Earthly delights?" 

Geralt grabs Jaskier's wrist, face twisting when Jaskier gives a surprised yelp. He walks away from him as if he were burned. 

"G- Geralt? What's wrong?" Jaskier, the fool is still gripping the churros tightly, follows him closely and bumps into his back when Geralt abruptly stops. He rifles through some papers on a desk next to his motorcycle. "Woah, big guy. That felt like I just walked straight into a brick wall!" 

Geralt scoffs, electing to glare at the papers in his hands. Jaskier places his hand on Geralt's, prying his hand open--a mighty feat!--and places a bag of churros in place of the papers. 

Geralt stares blankly at it. It’s silent once more before Jaskier hums a short silly tune, bowing his head in front of Geralt's, and Geralt blinks belatedly. He levels him a half-heated glare.

Yet all Geralt can see is warmth and a sudden softness that makes his stomach churn. His shoulders loosen its unprecedented tension.

"With that philosophic mind of yours, of course you think too much. Woe the mind of a philosopher." Jaskier bumps his shoulder against his. "But you still owe me an apology! I’m sure my wrist is broken,” he flaps his hand uselessly. “Maybe in the form of letting me ride Roach?" 

"Don't touch Roach."

"Yeah, yeah, big guy. Sure."

Geralt is ready with a harsh snide poised on his tongue, ready to push him away. Jaskier merely waves a churro-filled hand in his face. "Delicacies, the sweetest gift life can give," and promptly shoves them into his mouth. Humming and nodding at Geralt to do the same. 

Geralt stares at him for a bit longer, eyes drifting to his lips only to flicker elsewhere. Preferably anywhere Jaskier has not taken residence.

  
  
  


Days go by, Dandelion safely fixed and well-loved by her owner, and a routine is established quite quickly. Much to Geralt's displeasure. Eskel would pat his back, claiming this to be good for him. "You can't sit here all day talking to cars. Might as well be fucking them too." Although Geralt knows Eskel appreciates the coffee. A little too much. The damned bastard might be addicted. 

A waft of wind breezes through the opened door as Jaskier steps in. He raises the cups of coffee higher, an even louder proclamation of his arrival on his tongue faster than Eskel can grab his fix. 

Jaskier still cleans. His claim to give the shop some hard TLC seems to be true enough. He cleans things Geralt and Eskel can't be bothered to clean after the shop closes, which in turn means it will never get cleaned. Hell, Jaskier had even wanted to decorate the place with plants, but quickly denied the notion. They'd no sooner die in the smell of diesel than flourish; although Jaskier is insistent that certain flowers--dandelions--can grow anywhere. Then he'd push both Geralt and Eskel, wrinkling his nose and hoped that they'd bathe as thorough as a monk learns his gods. 

Days pass, which means sooner or later the routine will break. 

Humming is the first sound he hears when he comes back from his lunch break. Before he knows it, his feet carry him towards the hummingbird: Jaskier. To his surprise, he’s sitting on the floor, no doubt getting grease stains on his ass, with piles of tools littered about. 

Geralt stares at the sight before him. He had long since learned that Jaskier was the type to hum when he's preoccupied. He sings as one would speak about their passions, with every ounce of his soul poured out and splayed open. It makes Geralt wonder how one could lay their vulnerability for everyone to see; and yet the thought makes him smile gently.

Jaskier notices him soon enough. His hair tussles around and his smile widens. He struggles to stand, thighs aching with static from sitting far too long. He bounds up to Geralt soon enough, hands patting his bum to get rid of the dust, then his arms are splayed wide and an even wider grin pushing against his cheeks. "I'm glad you're here, Geralt!" 

Geralt's eyebrow raises. "I'm always here."

"That you are, and I'm glad of it, nonetheless," he says so serenely it makes Geralt's teeth ache. He can almost smell honey dripping from him. Then Jaskier pats his bicep, gesturing to the tools on the floor. "Would you care how these are organized? They're all shoved in that toolbox of yours, but it would be much more efficient to put the ones you use more out in the open. Say, on a peg board? Right next to your station, next to Eskel's too."

Geralt hums. 

"I knew you would see reason! Even these tools would like to breathe, I should know, I clean them everyday. Anyway," Jaskier grips his bicep, pulling him towards the mess. "Show me which ones you use the most."

  
  
  


There is one instance--only one, lest Geralt bare his teeth and growl like a caveman--in which Jaskier asks him to buy the coffees for the next day. 

"It's tradition!" He would huff, arms purchased around his waist. Geralt all but sighs. Jaskier doesn't take this as a no, because he never does. Maybe he had taken the fruit of forbidden knowledge because every time Geralt responds with monosyllables, Jaskier, very eerily, understands its trajectory.

Jaskier responds with a "thank you darling. You're the only one I can count on!" Again, Geralt can practically taste the honey dripping from his lips.

He grants himself the quick gratification of glancing at Jaskier's lips.

Shaking his head, Geralt places the container on the table. A flash of pink catches his eye. On the corner of the table, he spots stickers: a peach and a few stars surrounding it. 

Geralt recalls a peach sticker on the back of Jaskier's phone and snorts. Of course. His fingers twitch, and he hates the sudden urge to curl them in Jaskier's hair. 

Eskel only laughs at Geralt's predicament. He glances between him and the stickers. "Seems to like those a lot, doesn't he?" But it isn't a question, he's trying to probe Geralt for more but Geralt can't--and won't--be charitable enough to give that to him. Speaking is paired with admitting and acknowledging, and in terms of Jaskier... 

Geralt only shakes his head. Too much too soon. Geralt is far too familiar with what the throes of love can do. He can almost feel his scar burning as if it were re-opened. 

Instead Geralt provokes Eskel into a quick bet, a bet they have every month to see who fixes the most cars. Eskel won last month, much to Geralt's chagrin. Wasn't he supposed to be the car whisperer? Eskel claims that Geralt's skill is waning in his want for  _ something else _ instead of the cars Geralt probably daydreams about fucking. 

Geralt begins to snark, but the door opens, and already he can smell honey--has he unwittingly Pavlov'd his sorry ass?--and sure enough, Jaskier waves and makes his way next to them; and it feels like-

Like he belongs. 

Like it's a routine wishing to stay.

_ Almost.  _

"Cute sticker." Eskel nods towards the table. 

Jaskier briems. "My sister made it. Isn't it quite splendid?" 

Jaskier goes to collect his drink, taking a sip whilst nodding at whatever Eskel is saying. His eyebrows shoot up, and Eskel's voice wavers but continues to power through, albeit looking curiously at Jaskier. He pauses, blinking slowly at Eskel before turning to Geralt questioningly. 

"You remembered my order?" Jaskier looks up at him, eyes bright and soft. He stumbles over his words. "I- wow- thank you, Geralt. Really," and his voice comes out in a hushed whisper. Jaskier looks up at him with awe as if no one bothered to remember much about him and that-

Makes Geralt furious. It makes something in his stomach churn, and he can no longer bear looking at Jaskier for any longer, fearing his anger will swell. So Geralt hums and squeezes Jaskier's bicep, like Jaskier had done to him many times before. 

It burns and doesn't quell the surge, but it belongs. It feels like it does. 

  
  
  


Jaskier’s back hits the wall as Geralt crowds him against it. Jaskier breathes deeply, and his scent should have sent him running. He smells of gasoline and metal and something so inherently  _ Geralt _ that it makes his thighs shake. Geralt’s glare should have scared him off, but Jaskier finds himself searching for it first when he enters the shop; and surely, Jaskier should not feel so drawn and enticed to a man trying to intimidate him so. He should not be entranced by a man whose eyes glitter with gold and gives generosity in abundance, even if he refuses to acknowledge it whatsoever. 

All the more to be enthralled by. 

“Stop.” Geralt all but growls, leaning forward so that Jaskier is forced to look him in the eyes. The temptation to reach out and touch him, tell him how spell-binding he truly is makes Jaskier's fingers twitch. If he leans closer, their foreheads would be touching. “Leave. Your debt has long been paid for.”

Jaskier brightens. It makes Geralt squint, watching him carefully. Laughter almost bubbles up Jaskier’s throat. “You could have said so sooner. Why keep me around, hmm? Are you starting to like having me around, darling Geralt?”

“Stop fucking around.”

“I was never fucking around.” It takes all but a moment's hesitation to surge forward, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. 

Geralt stares at him, mouth agape. The tips of his ears colour with a reddish tint and his jaw flexes. Most importantly, his eyes are swimming with a chorus of emotions that would look so pretty in song--and against his throat. 

Jaskier hums, pleased with the reaction. He shifts until he’s bumping his chest against Geralt’s, hands clasped behind his back. He forces him to step back until he can taste a freedom that is almost as binding as a cage. Yet if it's Geralt, he wouldn't mind being trapped. Not like he has a choice. 

“Expect me to be here tomorrow. I’ll come for as long as you want me.” He says, and brushes his fingers underneath Geralt’s chin to close it shut before leaving.

  
  
  


He doesn’t see Jaskier for a month. All bark but no bite, Geralt all but pouts. He had been expecting it--hoping Jaskier could understand his silent pleas--and yet, here he is: alone and yearning and hurting the very same state everyone leaves him in. He thinks of Renfri and Yen, of a girl he couldn't save and mistakes that had left him aching, and it makes his skin crawl. 

The days don't blur together like they usually do, which would have been a blessing in disguise, even if it made Geralt feel strangely antsy. They only pass by slower, as if the sun refused to set, choosing to watch Geralt in his misery. 

Eskel buys the coffee once. Geralt looks at it disdainfully and doesn't bother to drink it. Normally Eskel would huff, but more coffee for him, how could he dare complain? Except Geralt is in a hard state of self-pity. Eskel knows Geralt can't be alone for too long, lest he retreat into the comfort--a comfort that brings him nothing but misery, the sour dolt--of his own mind; and he's not the only one who knows this. 

He regards Yennefer carefully.

"What did he do this time?" Is all she asks, pointedly staring at the bobba Eskel bought her.

How else would Yennefer agree to meet with him? He isn't keen on… Texting about Geralt's problem, receipts are a thing, dammit, but any deal made with Yennefer is paired with a loss. In which case Eskel only hopes is his money, and not anything else her greedy hands can get on. 

"He's thinking too much." Eskel begins warily, unsure of how little to say and how much Yennefer already knows, and how much the mingling customers will overhear. He's sure she's already aware, though. She seems to have eyes and ears everywhere. Eskel's glad he isn't Geralt. Having someone with such power keeping tabs on him would make him go mad. Eskel shivers at the thought. 

"Oh? And that's all you wanted to say? That Geralt's normally empty head is now filled with thoughts?" Yennefer tips her chin up, eyes lazily glancing at the customers. 

"Don't give him so much credit," he snorts. 

Yennefer sighs, making peace with her bobba. She stares at Eskel enough that he feels as though his soul is about to be ripped away from his body. Which isn't fair, he still has more coffees to drink before his time is up. "This has to do with the stray you've taken in?"

"Jaskier- yeah."

Yennefer crosses her arms, looking sordidly at Eskel. "And Geralt fucked up and the pup ran away."

He gives a wary smile, eyes closing tight. Purple is beginning to be just as taxing as it is vexing. "He gave him heart eyes, Yen." He says, voice strained, as if the very words had to claw out of his throat to be heard. 

"Heart eyes?" She laughs. "Please."

Eskel furrows his brows as he searches his phone for a picture of Geralt's obvious pining towards Jaskier whenever he isn't looking. 

Yennefer hums. "Some voyeur you are. Capturing a man at his most vulnerable state."

"It's convincing you though, isn't it," and it isn't a question, because Eskel knows Yennefer will help. If it's because she hates hearing Geralt sulking, then Eskel can't complain; what he  _ does  _ complain about--never near Yennefer, he isn't insane--is how he feels like she's sapped all of his energy and sanity. 

  
  
  


Yennefer leans against the side of a car as Geralt is bent over its open hood. She stares at him until he can bear it no longer and looks up at her, hair disheveled, a frown prominent on his features. 

She nods towards the peg board holding up most of Geralt's prized tools. "Looks like your pet makes use of himself."  _ Unlike you _ is heavily implied with her glance towards him. 

"I'm busy." Geralt grunts, returning to his job. He curses himself for not being able to handle her stare a little better, but he does hold some pride over the fact that he doesn't  _ visibly  _ flinch when she glares. 

"Busy brooding? Yes, you've been at it for years, I'd say. Pick up a new hobby, Geralt. Say, one with that boy of yours."

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut, and he can almost imagine Yennefer giving him a consoling look. Almost. 

"Yen. The last time I've-" 

"Yes, yes." She waves a hand, dismissing his self-pity. "The last time you've let yourself love you've loved too much. Has it ever occurred to you that you've been giving your heart to the wrong people?" 

"My  _ heart _ . Really, Yen." He looks at her as if she were novel. Had Triss finally broken her? Props to her. 

She rolls her eyes. "When you start pouting like that, I'm sorely convinced he's ripped your heart out."

Geralt isn't  _ pouting. _ "There's a difference between people being cruel and being worthy of it." 

Yennefer sighs, but not crudely. She eyes him a bit longer, lips pursed. "It's almost as if you're the pup yourself! Waiting for you master, only to be disappointed every time he doesn't come back."

Geralt sighs. "Leave, Yen. I don't want to think about this."

"This," she gestures at everything, "is all you've been thinking of." She sighs. Shaking her head, she situates herself behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "There's a banquet-" 

"Yen, no." He almost whines. 

"-This Friday. It will be good for you, Geralt. To take your mind off of things."

Geralt makes a face. Snooty rich people harping on their coin and looking down at him? That doesn't sound like an appeasing past time. 

"Wine, Geralt. Expensive wine."

Hook, line, and sinker. Geralt's been sold. 

  
  
  


Geralt shifts uncomfortably in his overbearingly stuffy suit. He eyes the sparkling dresses and pompous voices of the crowd with disdain. What's the point of hosting something so elaborate? At least there's wine. He's gone through four glasses in the span of fifteen minutes before Yennefer is giving him a rather crude look.  _ Behave _ , she says wordlessly. Which translates into:  _ don't get drunk, I won't save your ass. _

Typical.

Geralt scans the crowd. The surface-level awe is beginning to wear off, as it always does with the coquettishly wealthy. Although he always comes to appreciate how peoples’ outfits speak volumes of how pompous their asses are, and how beautifully it can wrap around a figure--he smiles at a woman who's eyeing him curiously--before the call of alcohol breaks the glamour. 

The clamour of laughter and remarks of one's successes nearly unmasks the rosy mist the alcohol offers him. Geralt sighs. Can he not just spend a day drinking expensive wine without a care in the world? Maybe the Fates above are watching and laughing. 

He can almost feel them bustling about the tables when his eyes land on a familiar mop of brown hair cleanly swept, blue eyes even clearer in the jarring light. Jaskier is dancing--because what else could that grace be alluded to?--between the tables as if he owned the place, as if it were a dance he is intimately familiar with.

Eyebrows scrunched, he glares into his honeyed wine, cursing--and maybe even thanking--the gods above. The alcohol itself burns down his throat with what he'd imagine ichor to be like. Geralt's sure Jaskier would applaud his prose. For even trying, that is.

He searches for Yennefer, and she readily meets his gaze with a knowing smile. Triss is beside her too, giggling softly in her ear. He nods at her, and she laughs a little harder. Geralt resists the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe it's not too late to entertain the lady he had seen earlier-

"What a lovely surprise. Perhaps destiny has woven our fates together." Jaskier grins up at him, eyes a glitter. Geralt almost flinches  _ toward him, of all damned things _ . 

He lets his eyes stray over Jaskier's body, almost forgetting how comforting his presence is; and how annoying. He frustratedly notes how perfect his suit hugs his features. 

Jaskier isn't  _ small _ , but he's also not as big as Geralt. Yet his suit makes him seem bigger, and for a moment Geralt could imagine Jaskier bracketing him with his heavy warmth, a cheeky grin, waxing soft poetics Geralt doesn't deserve. 

"You said you didn't have enough money," Geralt says slowly, tongue stiff and heavy. Was it the alcohol that's making him slow? Or was it the way that Jaskier is looking at him? Like a prey, hot and in pursuit- and Geralt should not be thinking of that when there are far too many people milling about. Especially not when they all glance at wherever Jaskier goes, as if they were waiting to hoard his attention. It brings some sort of sick satisfaction in Geralt, to know that Jaskier willingly comes to  _ him _ , while  _ they  _ have to wait until he's done with him. 

Geralt's lips purse. He hopes he'll never be done with him. 

Jaskier hums, cherry red tongue peeking to lick his lips. "I was hoping you'd fuck me like in some porno, but-" he shrugs, and he looks disproportionately out of place amidts the parlour of covetity and the wealthy. Existing between the two and yet somehow he manages to look so brazen. It takes all of Geralt's strength  _ not  _ to choke on his own spit. Although he can't help the blush rising up his neck and to his cheeks. Jaskier, the ass, always notices, and looks smug. Geralt is sure that if the room were quieter, he'd be able to hear him purr. "Father got angry. I was missing far too much work at the company. That and my clothes were always stained with grease."

Geralt nods slowly, grabbing another flute of wine that feels like melted gold pouring down his throat. He glances warily at the people beyond Jaskier and him. If he has this much wealth, why would he waste his time with him? There's nothing Geralt could possibly offer. 

"Yes, so as you've figured out, I do in fact own this rather jaunty place, " Jaskier nods. "But now that I'm here, and so are you…" He openly ogles Geralt's suit, rather, how the suit looks on him and hums in appreciation. "It should be illegal, to look as delectable as you do."

Geralt's tongue moves faster than his brain could warn. "As much as you do?" 

Jaskier laughs. "Ah, has all that wine gone to your head?" 

"I mean it," Geralt frowns. 

"Well, when you look at me like that-" and truly, Geralt stares at him as if he were an illusion. One blink and Jaskier would disappear from his sight. His smile warms, a hand curls onto Geralt's bicep. "Thank you," he all but whispers. "Now come, you look positively bored. I can't have that, not when I own this damned place!" 

The night passes with blurry flashes of colour and touches ranging from tentative to bold from Jaskier. Neither of them are drunk, but Jaskier moves faster than Geralt is bothered to; and when Jaskier is huddled next to him, fingers brushing against his own in a teasing dance, Geralt wishes he could immortalize this night.

  
  
  


Geralt's hand is successfully interwoven with Jaskier's as Jaskier tugs with light ferocity. The night air chills Geralt for only a moment before Jaskier is pressed against his side, sharing his warmth.

Geralt expected it to feel wrong. To take as much as Jaskier had been willing to give, but it feels… Just as warm as Jaskier is. It feels sickenly easy to look at Jaskier and expect him to look back, to look at Jaskier and believe that they could give and take in equal measure. 

It almost hurts, this revelation. He almost wants to believe. Geralt tips his head back to stare at the sky. If he were better, he could easily imagine keeping Jaskier safe, warm, and content. 

Jaskier looks at him and bares his heart to the public, but Geralt is prone to mistakes that may as well be akin to war. With something so fragile, he couldn't bear to trust his hands to fumble with something like a  _ heart. _

Geralt glances down at Jaskier. He has his tongue slightly poking out from his lips in concentration, fumbling with Geralt's phone as he tries to construct a text to send himself. 

Jaskier had managed to convince Geralt to exchange numbers with him, claiming that it was "better late than never," with a cheeky grin. Geralt couldn't say no even if he wanted to, not when Jaskier's hands are wrapped around his, and especially not when he presses his cheek against his bicep and trills happily. 

Jaskier hums. "Maybe I should send pictures of my cars. You are a mechanic, after all." His voice drifts off, eyes scanning the parking lot. 

Geralt huffs with a roll of his eyes. "What did Eskel tell you," and it isn't a question as much as it is a pointed finger ready to lift the blame. 

"Nothing! It was Yennefer." That is, decidedly, even worse.

"I didn't know you knew her."

Jaskier tilts his head to the side, looking contemplative. "Probably not as long as you have. I met her through Triss. I'd say we're all good friends." 

Geralt grunts. "Surprised Yen hasn't bitten your ass off."

"Oh, she's tried." Jaskier laughs. "Maybe I've signed my soul off unwittingly to the devil to be friends with her."

"You have."

Jaskier puffs a small laugh, looking at Geralt through his lashes. It's almost innocent. Geralt's almost convinced until Jaskier's hand slides down his bicep, resting dangerously close to his inner thighs. His fingertips press hauntingly against his trousers. "Well, that doesn't seem so bad."

Geralt is… Many things. Overwhelmed being one of them. He looks away from Jaskier's gaze hurriedly, trying to will his growing erection down. A grunt is all he can manage. Anything more and he's sure he'll burst. 

Jaskier hums, pulling away to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Well, I must be off then. Unfortunately I won't be able to come to your lovely shop to see your lovely…" he gestures to all of him. "Grease stains. But you can see more of me if you text me. I'll be sure to send pictures," he says with a flirtatious lilt.

Geralt nods numbly, watching Jaskier walk away to slip into his… Rather sleek car. It's a sexy car, Geralt had long since begrudgingly come to terms with even if Eskel and Yennefer make fun of him for it.

He desperately wishes he'd remain ignorant, but his stare lingers on the car as Jaskier drives away. Geralt can feel his dick straining against his pants. For fuck's sake.

Geralt should have known. Jaskier  _ is _ rich, after all. Of course he'd own a black convertible, one that shone beautifully under the moonlight. Geralt bites his lip. He's sure Jaskier would also look pretty under the moonlight, inside that car, under him. He’d even be willing to wax poetics, for all that’s worth.

Now, of course Geralt wouldn't use Jaskier just to… See his cars. No, of course not. 

Geralt would much rather watch Jaskier groaning underneath him inside of them. 

He nods to himself. Yeah. That was exactly it. That was exactly the pinnacle of his desires.

  
  
  


It doesn't take long for Geralt to be convinced to grab coffee together betwixt Jaskier's copious amount of flirting and a bit of his own. A not date that is most definitely a date but Geralt refuses to tell Eskel that. Or Yennefer, for that matter. Even if they give him knowing looks behind his back. Even with his phone turned off he can still feel it through the screen.

Jaskier arrives first, humming to himself as he searches for Geralt out the window. The shop is cute, the very same one Jaskier frequents for Eskel--he used to say it was for everyone, but Eskel looked the most in need--the epitome of  _ aesthetic _ . There must be some magic in the place, or maybe in its coffee, because Jaskier can feel a song thrumming beneath his fingertips as if it had simply been destiny to cull the abundance of inspiration the muses give so freely.

Or maybe it really is something in the coffee.

His clothes reflect brightly against the window, almost a focal point to the grey streets parallel. As he scribbles some lyrics in his notebook, the door chimes and announces Geralt's arrival. 

Jaskier fumbles with his pen when he sees him; and with all the poetic words he could muster: Geralt looks like a whole ass buffet. He's in a leather jacket Jaskier is convinced he never actually takes off and tight black jeans that accentuate his lovely bottom. He's even riding a rather sexy motorcycle. One that he sees in the shop every time, but makes him drool nonetheless. Sure he's seen Roach before, but seeing Geralt  _ ride  _ it? Jaskier is struggling. Struggling to will his erection down.

Geralt scans the small shop, and nods at Jaskier once he finds him. He hesitates shortly before stepping in line to order coffee. Jaskier's eyes drift down to ogle at his ass a little more. Can anyone blame him? His ass must be for Jaskier's eyes to feast upon, the muses urging him to scribble more lyrics down; and who is he to deny himself of such divine purpose? 

He almost has a whole song written when Geralt situates himself across from him, setting their coffees down. Jaskier grins brightly at him, and Geralt smiles back, his hand hesitantly reaches to rest against Jaskier's fingers, unwilling to lace them together himself. "You didn't have to, but thank you." Jaskier says, intertwining their hands and places a kiss on his knuckles. 

"I wanted to." Geralt squeezes his hand. He didn't know it was possible for Jaskier's smile to brighten even more, but it does. It's a peculiar thing, there isn't any snow but somehow Geralt feels like it's melting anyway. Maybe spring will last a little longer this year. 

Staring at Jaskier a little longer, he realizes how weak he's beginning to feel towards him. It almost makes Geralt laugh; oh the misfortune for someone to fall for  _ him. _

Yet he can almost believe that good things are in store for him the longer Jaskier's hand is in his.

Almost.

It's an almost believable lie, and that's the worst of it. 

Geralt's eyes search across the street. "I don't think I saw your car. Were you driven here?" 

"Nope! You parked right next to me."

Geralt hums. "That red BMW yours? It's not the one you had at the party-" 

"Nope! On the other side." 

Geralt almost gawks. A yellow two-seater eco car. Well, the colour certainly matches Jaskier's colour choices, he thinks, eyeing his (nearly offending) outfit. It matches the warmth Jaskier has when he looks at him. It's… Decidedly cute. 

“Isn’t it so cute! I love the colour, and it’s really good for the environment too. It’s so nice to drive and-” Jaskier's voice rises in pitch in his excitement. Geralt smiles, staring at him ramble. Although, he was hoping to see the black convertible again. Geralt can settle with Jaskier looking content. 

"I'm surprised it isn't Dandelion."

"Ah, Dandelion?" Jaskier brightens. "She needs some rest, I'm afraid. She also doesn't help the economy much, although I still love her greatly despite her faults." It's the warmth in his eyes that troubles Geralt. If he looks too deeply into them, he's sure he'll drown, again rebirthed into a wet dog wandering aimlessly, hoping to get pet by anyone who dared to wander close. Even if it meant to be touched by fire.

Yet it’s Jaskier, who looks far too deeply in Geralt's eyes. It manages to shake him. The slightest tremor in his fingers that Jaskier can surely feel. 

Geralt steels his nerves and places a kiss on Jaskier's knuckles. Jaskier audibly melts, and Geralt just wants to scoop him onto his lap and cuddle him, and pretend for as long as he can that Jaskier won't leave him.

"Broke her this time, have you?" 

Jaskier squawks, "of course not! I would never- not to my dearest Dandelion! Ah, you've broken it, Geralt. You've broken the mood." He almost pouts. 

Geralt hums, squeezing his hand. "Why name her Dandelion?" 

He pauses, speaking slowly. "Although I'm grateful you didn't follow that up with a weed joke, because, you see, Dandelion is quite fragile at heart."

"She's old."

"She's old," he agrees. "It's… Like my name. Dandelion. Buttercup. Jaskier."

"Buttercup," Geralt muses, thumb paving warmth on Jaskier's knuckles. 

"Speaking of cars," Jaskier leans into him, eyes shining deviously. "I am quite reminded that you still owe me an apology."

"Oh?" Geralt looks pointedly at the coffees in front of them, the corner of his lips turned upwards.

"You  _ are  _ the sweetest," he almost agrees. "But I meant what I said. Let me ride Roach!"

  
  
  


Geralt leads him to the motorcycle. Jaskier's hands are shaking, actually, his whole body is positively vibrating, as Geralt hands him a helmet. 

Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, lips forming a small smile. Jaskier grips onto his bicep, his other hand losing its grip on the helmet as he wills his legs to not give out in front of this handsome man! 

"Shit, sorry," Jaskier mumbles, wincing as the helmet tumbles onto cement. Geralt picks up the helmet before Jaskier can even try, which would result in him face down on the ground in shame. Damn legs. 

Geralt secures it carefully on Jaskier, patting the top of it gently. "What's wrong? Scared?" 

"No, no. I'm just… Me? Riding on the Roach? You've made me swoon, you bastard."

Geralt laughs, squeezing Jaskier's hand. "Only because you're so insistent."

As Jaskier situates his arms around Geralt's waist on Roach, he glances back to his car. He has the sudden urge to wave a hearty goodbye as Geralt whisks him away. 

He drives them to a relatively secluded area. If Jaskier didn't know any better, he'd have thought Geralt would murder him here, with no one to see but maybe hear.

Geralt gets off, leaving Jaskier to sit on his motorcycle. He nudges his legs until Jaskier is facing Geralt, perpendicular to Roach. 

"Oh, rather naughty, aren't you! Out in the open, hmm? Or are you rather here to kill me? Do you come here often?" 

Jaskier isn't given much time to tease any longer, for Geralt's lips are on his and nothing should matter apart from having Geralt closer. 

One of Jaskier's hands stroke Geralt's hair, something he's been yearning to do since he'd met him. They're as soft as he had imagined. His other hand moves over Geralt's chest, feeling hard muscle as he travels down. 

They both groan when Geralt pushes their hips together. Geralt nips down Jaskier's neck, rolling their hips together. Jaskier's moans sound heavenly against him, it's a shame he's getting too loud. 

"Quiet," Geralt silences him with a kiss. "You want people to hear you like this?" 

"Geralt. Fuck, I'm starting to think you want that."

Geralt hums. "Wouldn't be so bad for me. It would be for you, though." His hands palm Jaskier's clothed erection, and Jaskier whimpers against the base of Geralt's throat. 

Geralt unzips Jaskier's fly, gripping the base of his cock to hear him whimper. 

"God, Geralt- we're in public-" 

"And you were hard the whole ride here, Jask. Do you want me to stop?"

Jaskier's hand pulls at Geralt's hair, and Geralt groans at the feeling. "Don't fucking stop, God, don't stop-" 

Geralt kneels, teasing the head before he takes him in his throat. 

"You're so good, Geralt. Fuck."

Geralt hums around his cock, swallowing Jaskier in a rhythm that makes him squirm, legs tensing and shaking around Geralt's head. 

Jaskier breathes heavily, biting his tongue to stop the moans from streaming out of his mouth. 

"You're so good- fuck-" Jaskier keens, pressing his hips up to get more of Geralt. 

Geralt groans louder, pausing at the base of Jaskier's cock to swallow. Jaskier hums, biting his tongue harder when Geralt squeezes his thighs in a warning. 

"Like that, don't you. When I- when I compliment you. Got mad before but you- actually like it don't you?" 

Geralt sucks harder, anything to get him to stop. He sucks at the tip softly, a hand jerking off the rest of him. Soon he pops his mouth off of him, thumb stroking against his slit. 

"G-Geralt, wait, I'll-" he frantically pulls at his hair, but Geralt hums, taking him deeper. Jaskier cums down his throat as Geralt swallows, easing him down his high. 

Jaskier looks perfect. His chest is heaving, cheeks and throat flushed red. He's looking at Geralt, but his eyes are glassy, lips red with the bruises of their kisses. 

Jaskier bats at Geralt's shoulders. "Let me return the favour," he says breathily.

Geralt stands, a hand caressing Jaskier's waist. "You don't have to."

Jaskier huffs. "Of course I have to, I'm not a selfish lover."

Geralt hums. Of course he isn't. "People will see."

"And people couldn't see what you were doing to me?" 

"No."

Jaskier's lips quirk up, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. "Fine, just, c'mere." His finger loops around Geralt's belt loop, dragging him impossibly closer. He makes quick work of Geralt's pants, both hands coming to stroke Geralt's cock. 

Jaskier groans. "Rather big, aren't you," he purrs. "You think it'll fit?" And for emphasis, he widens his legs, and Geralt groans, hands coming to grip at his hips. 

"Dammit, Jaskier. Don't tease."

"Right, of course. People could see you fall apart so beautifully for me." 

Geralt bites his lip, struggling to contain his moans as Jaskier grips his cock harder, hands beginning to twist as he jerks him off. 

"You'd be so loud for me, wouldn't you? Be so good and cum inside of me."

"Jaskier-" Geralt chokes, struggling to prevent himself from bowing his head. If he did, people would clearly see Jaskier's face. He couldn't have that. 

Jaskier has a dopey grin on his face. Geralt leans in to kiss him, to wipe that damned grin off his face.

Jaskier pulls away first, whimpering at Geralt's glazed expression. 

"Bet you'd fuck me so hard, hmm? So hard I wouldn't be able to walk for weeks. Or maybe you'd rather I take you on your knees? Fuck you like you deserve. God, you'd feel me all week."

Geralt whines, "please, please, please-" bubbles out from him before he can stop it, his breathing gets heavier, struggling to keep his eyes on Jaskier. 

"You look so good for me, darling. Love my hands, don't you?" 

Geralt nods dumbly, biting back his volume. His hips jerk against Jaskier's hands, fingers tightening against Jaskier's hips. 

Geralt cums with a soft "Jaskier" sighing prettily from his lips. He slumps, forehead resting on Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier combs through his hair, waiting for him to catch his breath, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

Geralt draws away from him, breathing deeply. Jaskier's shirt is covered in Geralt's spent. He grins cheekily at Geralt before using his finger to scoop some of it and sucks it from his fingers, groaning and licking messily.

"Fuck." Geralt pushes Jaskier's hand away, stealing his mouth from his hands in a sloppy kiss. 

They tuck themselves back into their jeans. Geralt shrugs off his leather jacket and holds it behind Jaksier, coaxing him to put his arms through. 

"But- this is leather-" 

"It's fine."

Geralt zips up the jacket. Stepping back to see if there is anything else to hide. Jaskier sits prettily on Geralt's motorcycle, made even prettier with his jacket not exactly sitting right on him. But it isn't huge on him either. It's just right, a bit on the bigger side on him, but it's just-so that it feels more homely than anything Jaskier had worn prior. Or maybe that's because it's Geralt. 

Jaskier takes Geralt's hands to pull him closer. "I don't think I'll be able to drive for a while after this." Jaskier laughs, hands curling around Geralt's cheeks. Geralt smiles, leaning their foreheads together. 

"Guess we'll have to wait then."

  
  
  


The glamour of luxury is known through its novelty, and in the same vein, the rapid knowledge that novelty harbours boredom when looked at repeatedly. For some, the boredom is swapped with trepidation.

There is novelty in the surreal picture of Jaskier seated on Roach, dragging Geralt closer and closer and closer. The more Geralt stares at it, refusing to read the nasty comments that are sure to arise from it, the more that anxiety clings to him like a suffocating layer of brittle frost.

The more Geralt stares at it, the more he understands what a luxury Jaskier is; and how easy it must be to look at him and want to try.

Try to be more than he is, give more than he can, hurt more than he cares to.

Glamour fades into bitterness. It rings hollow like a deceptively friendly wave and singing that Geralt will continue to hear even when Jaskier is long gone. 

Softness and genuine affection never looked good on Geralt. It’s fast fashion and wears down quickly.

You can't expect to consume without giving, and with love, that means  _ all  _ of yourself; and all of Geralt is-- _ ugly and dogged devotion _ \--not worth the effort. Not worth the time it will take for him to bare his heart willingly. 

It leaves his mouth with a bitter tange, a harsh wave of fragrance melding within one another that smells of  _ everything  _ Geralt doesn't want to remember and it makes him-

Nauseous. Makes his hand seize, thighs tremble, the corner of his eyesight begins to darken and he… 

Feels weak. 

It's an ugly feeling of retribution wanting to curl itself safely at his core, to tell him his fuck ups are explainable and that  _ he  _ is redeemable. 

Redeemable enough for Jaskier. 

It feels like molten  _ ink  _ running down his throat and makes him want to hurl it from his stomach, to grab the festering retribution from contaminating him and-

Jaskier tells him repeatedly how he doesn’t care about what the public says. He doesn’t have the cleanest reputation, having been caught kissing other men and women, and it isn’t really his fault. It wasn’t his intention to strike Geralt in the heart and make his affections seem meaningless. Worthless.

Geralt shuts his eyes, the picture imprints in the darkness of his mind. For once he wishes he could get some peace. Some damned peace without feeling guilty for wanting it.

Much to his chagrin, he opens his eyes to be met with Jaskier’s. Geralt can’t will himself to  _ not _ look at him as if he’ll disappear when he blinks. Yet there’s an inevitability to it. Once he blinks he  _ will _ be gone; and Geralt will do nothing but watch him go.

His fingers clench around his phone. A tiny crack rips in the room and he’s sure his phone will be irreparable. As is inevitable to be.

Gentle hands pry his grip open for his phone to slip away unnoticed. Jaskier touches him so carefully as if he’s afraid Geralt will  _ shatter  _ beneath his fingertips. As if he were  _ weak  _ and in  _ need  _ and Geralt doesn't  _ need  _ anything, he doesn't want anything more than for Roach to live for as long as she's able, and-

Geralt shrugs off the hand roughly. His fingers curl and he holds his breath. Red makes way for blue, Jaskier's fright scares him. 

Jaskier doesn't deserve how harsh Geralt is, but maybe Geralt deserves it. 

Jaskier can sing his praises, but that doesn't mean Geralt can hear it. That doesn't mean Geralt can't  _ bite  _ and  _ snarl  _ it down until he can no longer hear the bird sing and fly. 

Yet Geralt can't keep this dance up, not when it hurts to see Jaskier look pained when Geralt gives him the cold shoulder. Jaskier can't go on forever, and neither can Geralt.

For once, Jaskier struggles with his words.

As if routine, Geralt pushes past him to stand. Geralt grabs a wrench, moving to stumble through the motions of fixing cars because that’s what he knows how to do best: fix everything but himself. He’s brash and rigid, his hands quicken to gather grease and dirt.

"Geralt! By the gods,  _ calm down. _ "

"I'm fine." The words feel heavy in his mouth, heavy and sagging and it furls deep within him and it makes him feel… Villainous. Guilty.

"Enough, Geralt."

Jaskier stomps towards Geralt, who blinks at him, mouth agape. He takes the wrench out of Geralt's hand and places it on a stool beside him. He proceeds to take a rag and wipes the grease from Geralt's hands. Jaskier strides in like a whirlwind, but he doesn't leave a path of destruction, he comes and cradles Geralt's heart and whispers words so sweet that it makes Jaskier seem untouchable. Then Jaskier blinks up at him, and suddenly he's on even-footing with him, no pedestal to make him seem something more than what he actually is. Because Jaskier is Jaskier. 

Jaskier is Jaskier, that's all Geralt had wanted. 

Geralt is Geralt, and Jaskier is Jaskier; and isn't that a lovely combination, in and of itself.

Geralt almost believes it.

Jaskier's grip on his hands tighten, and Geralt is suddenly thrown down onto asphalt, skin breaking as if the scars on his face were reopening and bleeding. Geralt's hand shakes as he tugs them out of his caging grip. 

"Yeah, okay, no touching. See?" Jaskier splays his hands in the air, a foot tapping an uneven rhythm. "What do you need? Water? I can go get that for you."

“Leave.” 

“Geralt,” he feels frustration bubbling up his throat at Jaskier’s exasperated tone. “You know I don’t care about what they say-”

“Because you’ve done this before. And I’m just being fed the leftovers. Who’s next in line? Got tired of all the rich pricks up your ass?”

He holds his breath, eyeing the closed expression on Jaskier’s face, knowing he’s not privy to his thoughts anymore, that he never will be anymore.

For once, Geralt searches for words that flutter and shy away from his grasp. He could search forever, but Jaskier won't be here for forever. The silence lingers, and he knows he's given up on words, merely preparing himself for an eternity lost without Jaskier.

"I just want you to feel better, Geralt." Jaskier says softly. It’s broken and frail, not at all like how Geralt fights to keep his voice even.

"Well you should find something  _ better _ then, shouldn't you?" Because Geralt had always found the right words to  _ snark  _ and  _ bite  _ and maybe even to hurt. Yet it always seems to hurt himself the most. A fire that burns bright but harms even the owner.

Jaskier’s head tilts down, jaw opening and closing. “You’re enough for me.”

“And what the fuck do you know about me?” Geralt growls, and quickly shuts his eyes tight. Once he opens them, Jaskier will be gone. He can't keep drawing Jaskier away and expect him to stay and hold him and love him and to let  _ Geralt _ love him-

"I know that you are insufferably kind. I know that you feel nothing more than dirt, and I wish you could see how glimmering you are, just like a diamond that's a bit too rough." 

"Maybe I'll cut your fingers off."

"But you won't. Maybe I'll bleed a little, but you're never really angry at  _ me.  _ You wouldn't hurt me on purpose."

"Accident, then,” and Geralt can feel his anger seep away. Tired and lonely. Lonely even with Jaskier. He stares almost unblinkingly at his shoes.

"We are prone to mistakes, Geralt. You could call it a disposition."

"You stole that from that song."

"I did," Jaskier smiles softly. "And you, in turn, have stolen my heart, Geralt of Rivia. And I don't want it back."

Geralt almost laughs. “Find someone else. I can’t buy the whole fucking world whenever you want.”

“Is that what you think of me? A gold digger? You think I just want more money to buy whatever I think is  _ fun _ and  _ new _ ?”

He wants to say yes, but it feels like ink down his throat all over again. Silence always looked better on him anyway.

“Money can never buy me anything I want.”

Geralt breathes deeply, words slow and heavy. It sags under his weight. The fire burns out and all that’s left is smoke and ashes. “What is it that you want?”

“You.”

Geralt isn't good enough. He wishes Jaskier could just see that and get it over with. He’s guilty for wanting him in the first place. Guilty for wishing for the night during the banquet, when he thought that it would be  _ easy.  _ But nothing is easy. Nothing comes easy, not with Geralt. Never for him.

Looking at Jaskier, Geralt can still see the underlying worry in his eyes in the midst of something warm.

Although there is pain, Geralt wants to try.

  
  
  


Jaskier is sitting on a pile of tires, much to Geralt's frustration, humming and writing lyrics in his phone. Geralt entertains the idea of getting some rickety old chair and claiming he bought it just for him. Jaskier wouldn’t sit on his tires then.

He dismisses the thought. "Sit somewhere else, Jask."

Jaskier preens. "Hmm, on your lap, perhaps?" 

"Another time."

"Oho! You naughty boy. Out in the open, just like that? Too bad we’ve already done that, I might’ve just swooned!" 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch upwards. “Tick that one off your bucket list.”

Jaskier hums, scrolling through his phone. "How about another date? Somewhere more romantic, perhaps?" He shows Geralt a picture of a lake underneath the brilliance of stars. “Ever been taken out on a picnic before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

His grin brightens. “Well get ready to tick that off of  _ your _ bucket list.”

  
  
  


"Consider this a pre-date! This date comes in two parts." Jaskier grins as Geralt lets him into his apartment, chest puffing out proudly at the idea. "And I brought The Princess Bride because no one hates The Princess Bride and--you have Netflix, don't you?" 

Geralt wonders if Jaskier were merely a phantom trying to teach him a lesson. Maybe a demon that Yennefer managed to summon because she's sick of Geralt's self-pity. 

Well, Jaskier wouldn't be a demon, would he? More like an angel, soft and warm and… 

Geralt thinks back at all the devious looks Jaskier had given him. Yeah. Demon. 

Geralt hums.

"Excellent!" 

Before Jaskier can sink into the couch, Geralt pulls him to his chest, kissing him enough that it makes Jaskier's legs weak. 

Geralt rests his forehead against Jaskier's. Both their lips are bruised pretty, breath mingling softly. 

"Hi," Jaskier says softly. 

"Hey." Geralt grins.

Jaskier pats his bicep. "Movie time? We can make out while we watch."

"Did you just want to make out?" 

"Duh."

Geralt laughs softly, shaking his head as he pops in the disc. It's oddly… Domestic. He never thought he'd have another chance at this. Second chances are penchant to give you hope and make you expect things will go differently, but… 

Geralt sits next to Jaskier, fingers unbidden with energy until he wraps him in his lap. He rests his head on his shoulder while Jaskier recites the lines by heart. Occasionally, Jaskier would move just so that their cheeks rub against each other. 

Maybe, if Geralt didn't let his insecurities win him over, he'll get to keep Jaskier like this. In his arms and content and warm.

Geralt intertwines his hand with Jaskier's. 

Yeah. Geralt can die trying. 

"I’m sure you’re the sweetest person I’ve met, hidden behind that… Rough exterior. You secretly have a sweet tooth, don't you?" Jaskier teases, tipping his head back an inch. 

"Not a secret," Geralt grunts, nipping his neck. "You know my coffee order."

"That was surprising."

"Nothing more surprising than having you here in my arms," Geralt hesitates, doubts beginning to bubble up in his throat, but--"Buttercup." 

Geralt is nothing if not resilient. Or at least hard-headed. He's had his fair share of knocking his head back into his insecurities and demanding it to shut up. It rarely worked. Sometimes it does. He's always happier when it does. 

"Careful, anything sweeter and I think I'd never want to let you go."

Geralt tips Jaskier back so that Geralt can press kisses against Jaskier's throat. Jaskier giggles until it's muffled by Geralt's lips.

Eventually Jaskier discovers the nature documentaries Geralt’s binge-watched.

"Oh, you old man! You really like these, huh?" He pats the side of Geralt's bum. "They're interesting, though. I like the one about the jellyfish and otters."

Jaskier falls asleep in Geralt's arms. All Geralt can do, with his proficiency of words, is call this home.

  
  
  


Geralt stares at himself in the mirror, wondering idly if Jaskier will finally bring that damned black convertible again. Maybe if he fucks Jaskier on his motorcycle--he's already done that. Maybe if he fucks him  _ in  _ Jaskier's car, he'll finally get the idea. 

The longer he stares at himself, the more light-headed he feels. His eyes linger at his scars, bitter bile rising in his throat and nearly choking him and gutting him (forcing him) to feel shame. He looks away, breathing slowly. It's date night, after all; and Geralt almost laughs.

He tugs at the collar of his polo shirt. A picnic, Jaskier had said. What do people wear on picnics? He should’ve asked Yennefer. No, he should’ve asked Triss. At least Triss wouldn’t laugh at him outright.

A honk rings throughout the street, and if Geralt's feet carries him faster than what would normally be socially acceptable, then fuck it. 

He stops before the car as Jaskier pops his head out of the window. "Looking absolutely scrumptious, darling." 

Geralt rolls his eyes and inwardly groans. Because of course it's another yellow car. Another damned eco car. He's beginning to think Jaskier is doing this on purpose. 

There are a few people milling about, but Jaskier is undeterred once they get to the picnic spot. He runs off with a cloth in hand and a basket filled with assorted goods. Geralt trails after, watching him flap the cloth onto the ground. 

“There are tables over there,” Geralt nods his head towards them.

“Yeah, but this is more romantic. Come.” He pats next to him, grinning. 

The night air fills with Jaskier's flamboyant recitation of his many sonnets written for Geralt, Geralt's thinly veiled compliments, and a lot of bickering. What surprises him the most is not the way that the moonlight seems to gravitate towards Jaskier and bathe him in ethereal light, what makes his heart ache is the way that it almost feels like a journey home. Geralt has had his fair share of "adventures," and none yet has taken him to a place he could familiarly call "home." 

It almost feels like a chase after something he couldn’t possibly put into words, something far grander than he is; but it takes him, holds his hand and brings him home. 

Jaskier removes his shoes and socks, opting to dip his toes into the water. Geralt sits beside him, one hand intertwined with his. Jaskier tips his head up, staring at the stars. It feels like home.

"Come here," Jaskier pats his thighs, an open embrace that Geralt greedily accepts. His hand trails in Geralt's hair, smoothing it down on his temple. He's silent as the water ripples and the other people come and go before he speaks.

"How lovely it is, to have you so close under the stars like this."

"Can't see the stars much." Geralt blinks up at the clouds passing by.

"Well, no. But it's romantic nonetheless."

"You say that every time I'm around."

"I believe, dear Geralt, that you can be romantic in your own," he pauses. "Weird way."

Geralt scoffs. "Surprised you didn't say something about the sun setting instead. Isn't that more classic?" 

Jaskier shifts underneath him. "Ah, just the fact that you know makes it even more romantic!" 

"I'm not illiterate, Jask."

Jaskier laughs, and Geralt smiles at the sight. He reaches up to brush a lock of hair away from his face. Jaskier captures his hand, places a small kiss to his palm and hums sweetly. 

Geralt, not the first time in his life, wishes to immortalize this moment of time so desperately. 

"Jaskier. I think… I would like to share my life with you. Only if I… Am worthy."

Geralt sits, placing both hands around Jaskier's cheeks. Jaskier smiles, curling his hands around Geralt's. "Definitely worthy."

Geralt places a kiss on Jaskier's lips. A simple peck, before Jaskier huffs, "That's not a kiss," and pulls him in once more. 

Jaskier pulls away first, chest heaving. Geralt smiles at him, soft and warm.

  
  
  


Jaskier hums, swinging his legs idly as he sits on Geralt's lap on his bed. Not like he could move much, Geralt's grip far exceeds his own. Jaskier's hand intertwines with Geralt's, bringing it up to press a kiss on his knuckles. 

"Do you think my garage is a petting zoo, Geralt?" 

Geralt snorts, nuzzling into Jaskier's shoulder. "Only if you let me touch them."

Jaskier giggles as Geralt noses at a ticklish spot. "You have to let go of me so I can show you, silly."

"Or we could just stay here, warm your bed."

Yet Geralt loosens his grip, watching Jaskier get up before he does--not without a few pats on Jaskier's bum, though. 

Jaskier takes his hand once more and leads him to his garage. 

There's at least fifteen cars in total. All sleek, all beautiful, all sexy cars, and Geralt can happily imagine fucking Jaskier in or on each one of them. 

"Beautiful, aren't they? But these babies," Jaskier all but skips off. "Are my absolute favourite. By far the sexiest, easiest to drive, and the most beautiful."

Geralt eagerly walks over. Then sighs when he sees two bright yellow cars. Of course. 

But then Jaskier winks and sits on the hood of the black convertible Geralt likes so much.

"But this one is rather special, don't you think? I rather… Like how my cum would show so brightly against the black. It's a rather… Decadent car, wouldn't you say, Geralt? Care to help me paint this car white?" 

Geralt's smile is lopsided, leaning into Jaskier and kissing him enough to have his back flushed against the hood of the car. 

Jaskier unbuttons his shirt as Geralt unbuckles his belt, slipping his jeans down his thighs. He drops them beside him, what a sweetheart, Jaskier thinks.

"Eager, aren't you?" Geralt eyes the wet-spot on Jaskier's underwear. "Been thinking about this?" 

"Not as much as you, I'm sure." Jaskier winks and spreads his thighs. "Don't tease, you want this as much as I do."

"Not much fun if you don't beg."

"I'll be begging on your cock if you put it in me."

Geralt removes his underwear, humming at the sight of Jaskier on the sleek car. Absolutely delectable. 

Jaskier's hands tug at Geralt's shirt. "Aren't you rather over-dressed for this occasion? Give me a show, Geralt."

Geralt rolls his eyes, shucking it off quickly and making even quicker work with his pants and underwear.

Jaskier hums, eyes roving over Geralt's physique. "Three out of ten for the performance, but one hundred points for how wonderful you look." 

Jaskier tugs him down, kissing him. 

They both groan into the kiss as their cocks slide against each other. Geralt takes both their cocks in one hand, jerking his hips against his. Jaskier's head falls back with a groan, fingers tugging at Geralt's hair in pleasure. Geralt growls, mouthing at his neck.

"While this is lovely, I might just cum like this and--ah, you're lovely, Geralt--I need you inside me."

Geralt grunts. "Where's the-" 

"In my pocket."

Geralt gives him a look before ducking down to retrieve it. 

"What? I can never be too prepared, not when you always look at me like that."

"Like what?" Geralt asks, Spreading the lube generously on his fingers, hiking up Jaskier's legs on his shoulders.

"Like you love me."

Geralt circles Jaskier's entrance, his leg twitches in anticipation. "I do." And his finger enters shallowly, before he dares to to fill a full finger in his ass. Jaskier hums as he gets a rhythm going. 

"Good. You're so good to me," Jaskier smiles at him. 

Geralt adds another finger once Jaskier tells him to; he knows best for his… Ass, after all. Jaskier starts groaning once Geralt scissors his fingers, his hips eagerly moving with him. 

Geralt leans forwards, stretching Jaskier's legs as he moves, to kiss at the base of his throat before moving down to chest, tongue licking his nipples. 

"More, more, Geralt-" his back arches off the hood of the car when Geralt presses a third finger in him and his other hand pinches at Jaskier's nipple. 

"Ger- ah fuck- inside. Inside, please."

Geralt withdraws his hand, wiping the fluid on his cock. He pours more lube in his hand, coating his prick enough for Jaskier. 

His head jaunts against his entrance. Geralt huffs, removing Jaskier's legs from his shoulders to wrap around his waist instead. He kisses Jaskier freely, his right hand searches for his and intertwines.

"Rather the romantic, aren't you? I think I got lucky with you." 

Geralt enters him slowly. 

Jaskier moves his hips, a clear signal for him to keep going. Geralt grabs at his hips, slowly thrusting in and out, matching a slow rhythm that Jaskier is keen on accelerating. 

"Faster. You won't break me, Geralt. Fuck me like you mean it."

And Geralt does. He pistons his hips against Jaskier's in a punishing pace. Jaskier's words are delirious, slurring enough to be nonsense/nonsensical sounds mingling with his moans. 

Jaskier's hand flies to his cock. Geralt growls, pinning his arm down and leaning against him heavily. "You don't get to come until I say so. You said you'd beg on my cock, didn't you? Beg." 

Jaskier sobs. "Fuck you, Ger- Geralt. I'm not that- that easy-" he gulps down his groans, feet pushing down on Geralt's lower back, coaxing him to fuck him harder.

Geralt does the opposite. He stops, fully inside Jaskier and grins down at him. "I'll have to make you, then?" He exits out of Jaskier, ignoring his whimpers as he flips him over. 

Jaskier grunts as he leans on his forearms on the hood of the car. "Make me beg," he wiggles his ass against Geralt's cock. 

"As you wish," and Jaskier would have laughed had Geralt not chosen to fuck into him. Moans and whimpers are dragged from his lips as Geralt hits his prostrate with every thrust of his hips.

Jaskier's thighs shake. He clenches around Geralt and Geralt groans, moving so that his chest is flushed against Jaskier's.

Geralt groans close to his ears, making sure Jaskier can hear every sound of pleasure from him. Jaksier whimpers, hips struggling to keep up with Geralt's pace until he's succumbed to just take all of Geralt and embrace the sounds he makes. 

Every groan from Geralt makes his cock ache. 

"Won't you beg for me, Jask? I want to hear you," Geralt says softly, or as softly as he can, which is ultimately still rather rough. Jaskier appreciates it nonetheless. A little too much. 

"Fuck, fuck, okay." Jaskier whines. "Please, please, let me cum! Let me cum, please, Geralt-" 

Geralt mouths at his neck, humming. He grants Jaskier's wish: hand jerking his cock as he fucks him a little harder. 

Jaskier, unbelievably so, gets louder. He chants Geralt's name, body shaking as he cums. His seed paints the hood of the car. A lovely contrast, black and white. 

Geralt fucks him through his high, soon he cums inside of Jaskier with his insistence: "inside, inside, cum inside me-" and slumps heavily on Jaskier. 

They breathe heavily in a pile until Jaskier gains enough energy to push Geralt off of him.

Geralt kisses Jaskier, soft and sweet it makes Jaskier hum against his lips.

Jaskier grins at Geralt, nodding towards the other cars. "Those ones next?" 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my works, support me on Tumblr: [itsautumnherefriend](https://itsautumnherefriend.tumblr.com/) ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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